


Burns

by mickeym



Category: Popslash
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-14
Updated: 2005-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-09 06:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/84165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mickeym/pseuds/mickeym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a touch burns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burns

There's something about leather that just screams 'hot', and the guy across the room, dancing like he hears the music in his soul rather than from the speakers, is dressed head-to-toe in it. Black leather, and the way the lights hit him as he twists and turns, you can see the sweat glistening on sun-kissed skin.

Dude personifies heat, and you really want to walk over to him and wrap yourself around him, and welcome the burn.

You know who he is, of course you do. If the lights were more than dim, twisty streaks here and there, you might've realized sooner it was him, waiting for you. It doesn't matter; he sees you now and the half-smile on his face blossoms, turns predatory in the blink of an eye. You shiver, not from cold, but from anticipation. Yeah. Tonight's going to burn.

You can't wait.

He dances like he sings, heart and soul in it. Beneath your feet the floor vibrates and shimmies, until you wonder if he's dancing to the beat...or if the beat is dancing to him. Sweatdrops glisten along his temple and your fingers itch to touch, to slipslide through the moisture until you can bring it to your mouth to taste.

He tastes like salt, like heat, like passion; light shimmers beneath the surface--beneath _his_ surface, pooling here and there for you to see, until you're desperate to taste it, to feel it glide over your tongue too-hot and not hot enough all at once.

"Not here," he whisper-shouts; you read his lips, track each movement and trace them with your tongue in your mind. He's right, so you nod. It wouldn't do for either of you to get caught, though both of you push it, shove at it, wanting to cross the line but not quite daring.

~~~~~

His body is slick with sweat and you chase each drop down eagerly, a warm, fine wine you don't get to drink deeply of, often enough.

"Slow, slow," he mumbles, fingers twined in your hair. You're glad you kept it long. Gladder when he pulls, not hard just firm, and sensation ripples and shudders all through you. He jerks beneath you, cock slapping against your lips, teasing you. The words slip from English to Spanish, and what little you remember from school so many years ago does you no good now. You catch "bueno, bueno, querido" and "si, si, por favor--" but that's all.

It's enough.

When he comes, thick and salty and warm in your mouth, his body beneath yours feels like a thousand burning suns all compressed, super-charged, incinerating you. The heat trickles down your throat, searing as it goes, until you're burning from the inside out, and outside in.

The dragon on his hip beckons, teasing you, until you shift to lick over it, trace the fluid lines with your tongue. He shifts restlessly, growling softly when you bite.

His mouth is hot, wet, and you want to scream when he slides it down over you. Throat, nipples, belly, cock. He tongues you, teases over your balls and back up again until you're writhing with want, blood boiling within your veins.

"Shout," he whispers hoarsely, the word sounding thick, heavy, to your ears. "No one can hear, down here. I want to hear you."

The leather couch beneath you crackles when you shift, legs spreading wider as the hunger burns through you. Beneath you is more leather, and it's slick now, too much heat between you; you slide just a little when he pushes as he swallows around you, mouth open and taking you in.

You're as noisy when you come as he was quiet. He shook apart beneath you, breath hard and fast, harsh, soft sounds falling from his lips. You give him his shout, and a cry that goes on and on, until you have to breathe or pass out. He kisses your hip, tongue tracing invisible lines.

"You should get one," he says quietly, and ice water trickles into your veins, forming a shudder.

"Not gonna happen, dude. Not now, not later, not never."

"Never say never," he laughs, slithering up against you. Beneath you, against you, the rustle of leather, hot words whispered directly into your brain. You don't know what they said, but you feel each one, a brand against you.

His breath evens out as you lay there, twined together, sweat cooling on your bodies. You'll doze in a bit, once you've soaked up all you can from him. It's never quite as warm when he's not around.

It'll be months before you're in the same city at the same time again. Between now and then, he'll close himself off and pretend he doesn't need the things he screams silently for, when you meet up. He'll do what's expected of him -- just like you will -- and then there'll come a day, or a night, or once in a rare while, a handful of both, and you'll get to coax the heat up to the surface again.

You're still smoldering, and you're already anticipating the burn of the next time.

~fin~


End file.
